


Incorporeal

by evangelinerose



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, ghost au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:42:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21933172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evangelinerose/pseuds/evangelinerose
Summary: Y/N is furious with her mother for moving her across the country. Furious. She understands that the memories back home are too painful for her, but Y/N has always been atrocious at making friends. And now that she’s a senior and in a new small town? Forget about it. What’s more, it turns out that the old, creepy mansion they move into isn’t even unoccupied. No – there is a resident ghost, and his name is Draco Malfoy. A Muggle AU with supernatural elements.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Reader, Draco Malfoy/You
Comments: 47
Kudos: 128





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I know, posting yet another WIP. BUT the good news is that this actually isn't a WIP at all. It is finished (and was actually finished long ago, written in honor of October). The chapters are short, easy reads, and I plan on posting every 1-3 days. Chapter warnings will usually be here in the notes, at the end of the chapter, but this story is easily my tamest and lowest rated story. Nevertheless, the story info is:
> 
> -Romance has to build like with most of my stuff (and this one is a particular logistical challenge for…obvious reasons, aka he's a ghost). But it does pick up, I promise, so stick with me.
> 
> -Family friendly, compared to most of my stuff. I’d say mostly PG, with one scene toward the end that leans toward PG-13. Warnings will be due to language/violence/heavier themes like death; no sexual warnings.
> 
> -I tried something out and actively limited my word count for this. The first part is longer, but the rest were kept very consciously to under 2k. I wanted to practice brevity and simplicity in a multi-chapter fic.
> 
> -Oh and also it’s quite weird, but I'm still very fond of it. Hope you enjoy ;)

“I know this is hard for you,” said her mother, rather anxiously.

Y/N just opened up one of the many suitcases sprinkled around her new room with her lips pursed and didn’t say anything. She had picked the room with the least amount of cobwebs and the most modern furniture. One couldn’t say it wasn’t spacious, at least.

“I just couldn’t do it anymore,” continued her mother, sounding strained. “Everywhere I went, he was there. And the way people looked at me…”

“You’ve already told me this,” said Y/N, a little sharper than intended. But she had heard it already. She’d heard all about the looks of pity whenever her mother went to the supermarket. She’d heard all about how those looks of pity would immediately turn awkward and how their eyes would dart away when they saw her mother looking, clearly unwilling to talk.

What can you say to the town widow whose husband died in a sudden and tragic accident? And did her mother honestly think it had been so much better for her at school?

She’d always been a little strange back home. The quiet outsider that read books at lunch and sat alone, and mumbled when she had to speak to people. She hadn’t been _disliked_ , exactly, and thankfully she hadn’t been bullied, either. Eyes had just slid right over her, which was fine with her.

But when her father had died, the eyes had suddenly been on her all the time. People whispered behind their hands. Such was life in a small town.

But at least the other teenagers there had known her for years. They could at least have some sympathy for the girl that they had grown up with, even if they thought she was a bit odd. Here she was just in another small town, as a senior no less, and she’d be the stranger all over again. She’d have to find her role in this new place, and she had a terrible feeling that it would be a worse role than the one in her hometown. She hoped not, but it wasn’t a high hope.

Her hopes hadn’t been very high for the past few months anyway.

“This school has more offerings for different art classes,” her mother went on hopefully.

Y/N just strode over to the dresser in the room and opened it. It was full of cobwebs, and she frowned at them. “Could you hand me the feather duster?” she sighed, turning to face her mother, who was perched on the bed, and holding out an impatient hand. Her mother complied immediately, and Y/N turned with the duster in hand and began systematically sweeping it out so she could hang up her clothes. She hoped it wouldn’t make them smell like mildew. 

It was silent for a while, but when Y/N began hanging up her shirts, one by one, her mother spoke again. “I was going to go out and try to find a furniture store,” she said. “Get you a nice bookshelf for the room. Do you want to come?”

The truth was, Y/N wanted to be alone. 

For months, all she had wanted was to be alone. 

Even finding a beautiful wooden home for all of her precious books was not enough appeal to go into the town, smile, introduce herself to people, or to listen to her mother’s attempts to make up for the fact that she had uprooted their entire lives and brought them to this old, dreary mansion.

“Not really,” she said honestly, though not unkindly, turning to her mother again. 

Y/N saw her mother’s eyes flash with hurt, but she was able to stifle it quickly. She just got to her feet and walked over to kiss her daughter on the forehead. “I’ll pick one out for you?”

“I’d like that.” Y/N gave her a small smile to help assuage the guilt that she always felt after she knew that she was too impatient or dismissive in conversations with her mother. She always tried to remind herself that her mother was suffering, too.

Her mother’s answering smile was radiant. “I’ll be back in a few hours, then.” She gave Y/N a tight hug, and then she disappeared into the hallway. With a little sigh, Y/N turned back and began hanging up shirts again, going slowly back and forth between the suitcase and the dresser.

It happened about five minutes later, when she picked up one of her favorite shirts.

She felt the hard edges of the picture frame wrapped up in the soft material, and she remembered that she had tucked it here for safekeeping during the move. Her favorite picture of him. She unwrapped the shirt sleeves and pulled it out, and it was shocking just how painful it was to see it. Even expecting it, the ache in her chest made it difficult to breathe.

“Handsome man,” a voice drawled from behind her. “Who might that be?”

She almost dropped the picture. Instead, she managed to cling to it and whirled around with it clutched to her chest. Upon seeing the blonde-haired boy in her bedroom, she let out a loud, shrill scream and stumbled backward in a blind panic, her back slamming hard into the wall.

The boy seemed incredibly unbothered by her reaction. He just smirked and folded his arms, his eyes sweeping over her with something undeniably like raging curiosity. “Oh yes, get it all out,” he said, sounding incredibly amused.

She was hardly coherent. “What are you – I don’t – _how did you get into my room!_?” she shrieked, wondering if she should scream again. With her mother gone, however, it wouldn’t do much good. The grounds for this mansion were huge, too, and no one would hear her. She didn’t even know where her closest neighbor was. Fear shot into her throat.

“The same way I get everywhere,” he answered, giving her another smirk.

“Who are you?” she demanded, trying to sound fierce even though her voice was shaking. “How did you get into my house?”

“Well technically, it’s _my_ house,” he said, grinning. His eyes darted around with great interest. “And it seems you have decent taste, at least, because you’ve also picked my old room.”

“What are you – I don’t – ” She could hardly think straight. It didn’t seem like this boy was going to attack her, because he was still holding his ground on the far side of the room, but one could never be too careful. And what the hell did he mean, his old room? “I don’t understand,” she said finally.

He rolled his eyes. “Isn’t it obvious? Look at me. _Really_ look.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, wondering if this was some sort of trap. Still, he didn’t move closer to her, so she took two tentative steps forward and peered hard at him in the dim afternoon light falling into the room from the dusty window. 

He was about her age. Handsome, too, with very pale skin and piercing gray eyes and white-blonde hair that was carefully mussed. He was so impeccably dressed that it was almost disconcerting, and it made her self-conscious about her ratty moving day clothes. And then she saw it – the fear and adrenaline had made it easy to miss before: he wasn’t solid. 

The edges of his body were blurry, and he was slightly brighter than a normal human should be. What was more, his feet didn’t touch the ground.

She couldn’t help it. She screamed again, backing up once more to be as close as possible to the wall. “B-but – are you – you can’t be a – ”

“Ghost?” He rose an eyebrow. “I can, actually. Because, you see, I’m dead.”

“That’s impossible,” she whispered.

“You’re looking at me, aren’t you? So it’s obviously not,” he replied, his mouth quirking up to the side.

“I’m dreaming,” she said immediately, shaking her head furiously like she was trying to get water out of her ears. “This is all a bad dream. Maybe I’ll wake up back in my real bed, in my real home.”

“Is that why you were so mean to your poor mother?” he asked. “So she decided to move, and you’re angry about it?” He gave her a wicked smile.

“I – ” she sputtered angrily, unsure which complaint to start with first. And then she decided on the most pressing one. “How did you hear that conversation? Were you – were you _here_?”

He chuckled, arched an eyebrow, and as an answer, he faded away right before her eyes. Nervously she stepped forward, her eyes sweeping around the room, expecting to see him moving, or a faint shimmer, or _something_ , but there was nothing. He had gone completely invisible.

_Or maybe_ , she thought hopefully, _maybe he hadn’t really been there at all_. 

Maybe he had been a figment of her lonely imagination. She had never really _hoped_ to see things like a crazy person, but as it was…

“Boo,” breathed his voice behind her.

She jumped about a foot from the ground, letting out another terrified screech and whirling around while staggering backward at the same time. At first she still didn’t see anything, and she only heard his soft laughter. And then, slowly, he came fading into her vision again, getting more and more solid until he looked almost like a normal human again, only with the strange brightness and soft edges.

“Jumpy, are we?” he asked, snickering.

“You’re being mean,” she hissed, glaring at him.

“Yes well,” he continued, rolling his eyes and then smiling rather triumphantly, “Seeing as you’re so jittery, let’s make sure you don’t harm that thing, hmm?” He gestured to the frame she was still clutching in her hands. “Wouldn’t want it to break and have you blaming me or my ghostliness.” He snapped his fingers – it didn’t make a normal snapping sound, but instead it was much more like a faint wisp of air, like a light rustle of wind – and she let out a squeak of shock when the picture frame went flying from her hands. She didn’t even have time to protest before it went zooming across the room and lowered very slowly to land with an incredibly soft thump on her bed.

She just stared at it for a long time and then moved her eyes to him. “What else can you do?” she whispered, slightly awestruck now. The fear was still there, but it was fading. She figured that if he wanted to truly hurt her by now, he probably would have already.

A slow, smug smile spread over his face. It occurred to her, suddenly, that he was very much enjoying this.

He just snapped his fingers again, and every object in the room rose a few feet from the ground, hovering there in the air. She gazed around in awe, until she looked down and realized that she was also no longer on the ground. She didn’t scream this time, thankfully, but she felt her stomach drop at the strange sensation of seeing her feet not coming into contact with anything solid, and when she spoke her voice was much higher than usual. 

“ _Hey_! Hey, Mr. Ghost, put me down!”

“ _Mr. Ghost_?” He was laughing when he snapped his fingers again, and slowly everything, including her, drifted down and settled easily on the floor again. “I have a name, you know.”

“Well you haven’t told it to me,” she said, a little miffed as she brushed herself off and stared hard at her feet for a long moment before deciding that they seemed to be working normally and attached to the ground again. She looked up at him to see that he was drifting a little closer, looking amused again. “And besides, it’s not like I’m familiar with how to address a ghost,” she continued uncertainly. “It’s not exactly an everyday occurrence for me.”

His eyes were scanning her face eagerly. “What’s your name?”

“Didn’t hear that detail eavesdropping?” she asked dryly.

“No.” He was smirking again.

“Y/N,” she answered. Her edges dragged over the edges of his body again, the blurs of him, how bright he was compared to her, feeling suddenly very strange about this entire thing. “What’s yours?”

“Draco,” he replied. “Draco Malfoy.”

“I’ve never heard that name before,” she said thoughtfully. “You must be old.”

He grinned and rolled his eyes. “Dead people don’t _have_ ages, but if you want to get technical, I’m the same age as when I died. If you’re asking whether I was _alive_ a long time ago, it’s sort of true, I suppose.”

“How long?” she asked curiously. “And how old were you when you…”

“Died? Nineteen. How long ago?” He floated up suddenly into the air, flipping so that he was lying horizontally, as if on a bed, and stared at the ceiling with a thoughtful little frown. He didn’t even seem to realize he had done it, but for Y/N it was positively astounding, and she gaped at him with her mouth slightly open. “Don’t know,” he murmured finally. “A hundred years, maybe?”

“You can’t remember?” For some reason, this made her sad.

He slowly floated down to hover in front of her again, as if he were standing upright – except, of course, for that minor detail that his feet didn’t touch the floor. His eyes were scanning her face carefully. “Life tends to get blurrier and blurrier the longer you’re dead,” he answered finally.

“And…you’ve been alone here this whole time?” she asked, frowning.

Something flashed in his eyes, but he just shrugged. “There used to be a caretaker that came by every week that I thoroughly enjoyed haunting,” he said, giving Y/N a very mischievous smile. “It had gotten to the point where I’d hover things and he’d just pretend not to see, though, so he was getting boring. _You_ are much more interesting.” The light in his eyes had gotten more intense, and for a moment he seemed to glow even brighter.

“And my mother says _I’m_ too antisocial,” she muttered.

“Bookworm, as I hear it,” he drawled. He was trying to sound casual, but wasn’t quite managing it. Her heart suddenly contorted in her chest for this strange, lonely boy, and she realized that she was no longer afraid in the slightest. In fact – and this was the concerning part, probably – this conversation was the most natural one she had ever had with anyone her own age. Never mind that he was a ghost, which she still didn’t want to think about too deeply at the moment. “Artist, too?” he continued, slowly floating a little higher.

“The first one, yes,” she said. “The second one, only somewhat. But it’s quite rude of you to listen in on conversations, you know.”

“I was curious,” he said, shrugging and not looking the least bit ashamed. “Can you blame me? People are coming to live in my home for the first time in…years. I don’t know how many, but it’s quite a few.”

She hesitated and then crossed the room to sit tentatively on her bed, still watching him carefully. His eyes followed her movement, but he remained where he was. “So…” She began tentatively. “So you can…manipulate objects and fly and…things. Is there something you can’t do, Draco?”

His eyes widened and his face twisted a little when she said his name, but it smoothed out quickly to something more expressionless. But she had seen it, and it made her wonder how long it had been since someone had addressed him directly and personally. Slowly, he floated upward and moved over toward the bed, settling in beside her as if he were sitting. Of course, no part of him touched the bed, and she just stared. It wasn’t _disquieting_ , exactly, the way that he moved, but it would take some getting used to. 

He raised his right hand, palm out. An invitation.

“Touch,” he answered softly.

She reached out her hand, too, and tried to make contact with his skin, holding her breath. She went right through him and felt a deep chill run through her bones, even though it was the middle of June. He saw her shiver, and he withdrew his hand, watching her with a slight frown.

“Do you miss it?” she asked.

“Sometimes,” he admitted quietly.

And then, very abruptly, he was zooming backward, soaring high in the air with a grin on his face. “So? Want a tour of Malfoy Manor?”

“Only if I get to walk,” she said, getting to her feet and giving him a tentative smile and deciding not to analyze what was going on too deeply yet. “No surprises.”

“Fine,” he replied, smirking.


	2. Two.

The Manor was _huge_.

Seeing it from the outside was one thing, but actually wandering through the rooms was another. After a certain point, Y/N gave up on trying to remember where she was and just hoped that this ghost Draco Malfoy wasn’t luring her somewhere to kill her.

He would often forget that she needed to use doors.

More than once, he simply floated through the wall to the adjacent room, and she would call out in indignation for him to come back. And he would, hovering around her head and grinning, scathingly complaining about the limitations of mortals.

Clearly, his family had been wealthy. The furniture in this place, while outdated and full of cobwebs, was ornate and of the highest quality; the most expensive money could buy. When he lead her into a room with emerald green wallpaper and surrounded with gigantic portraits, she actually gasped. The frames surrounding the portraits were decorated with emerald green and silver jewels, and she noted that the letter ‘M’ was frequent in the artwork. She assumed it was the family crest.

“The Malfoys were always very proud of their lineage,” he explained, floating to the far end of the room to peer up at one of the giant portraits near the window. “We were assholes.”

“We? You as well?” She questioned, following him over to where he was floating, still frowning up at the portrait and his eyes also flicking to the ones beside it.

“Oh yes,” he said quietly. “Why else do you think I’m still around?”

She pursed her lips in thought, because obviously she didn’t know why he was still here. It wasn’t as if she had any clue how death worked, and she especially didn’t know how ghosts worked, because she had just found out they existed today (though a very small portion of her was still holding onto the hope that this was all a very strange and detailed dream). And she was just thinking of a way to phrase her question, or whether she should ask it at all – after all, she didn’t know the proper etiquette about what was considered too personal a question for a fucking _ghost_ – when she was momentarily distracted by seeing the portrait he was looking at.

It was him, and he looked to be about the same age. He was sitting in a high-backed, golden chair – as seemed to be the style of all of the other portraits around the room – and he was holding a staff with a snake’s head. A ring with the crest and the ‘M’ glinted on his finger, and he was gazing forward with a slight smile playing across his lips.

“Well,” said Y/N lightly, “You’ve aged well.”

He snorted. “I know that you’re joking, but I feel I should emphasize again that I haven’t aged. I’m frozen.” He stared for a long moment at the portrait, still with a slight frown. “The Draco Malfoy you see there was precisely two months before I died, so it’s almost exactly the same, actually.”

Her eyes moved to examine him, floating there beside her. 

When he was turned to the side, she noticed that he was more transparent. She could see right through him and to the wall beyond. But then he slowly turned to face her, and he looked almost solid again. It was both incredible and strange, and she sincerely hoped that she wasn’t gaping at him in a way that was offensive. Once more, in order to keep her staring to a minimum, her eyes slid to the portrait before coming back to him. “It’s different, though,” she decided.

“Oh yes? How so?” He quirked an eyebrow.

She looked at the portrait a long time and then him again before she decided what it was. “Your eyes,” she told him slowly. “Your eyes are colder in that portrait. And that smile seems cruel.”

He blinked. “Really?” was all he murmured, his eyes scanning her face.

He did that a lot, she had noticed by now. Looked at her like that. She chalked it up to the fact that he hadn’t gotten to really _look_ at anyone for a long time, but still, it was a little nerve-wracking to be under such an intense gaze all the time.

“What’s the deal with all of this, anyway?” she asked, sweeping the room. “Were you royal, or something? Is that why your family made all this fuss?”

“There was noble blood, yes,” he answered, his eyes sweeping now to the portraits beside him.

Her eyes followed his, and she saw two people that were undeniably his parents. He shared his father’s gray eyes and platinum blonde hair, and his mother’s brow and cheekbones. “Your mother and father?” she murmured, stepping closer to examine them. They, too, had smiles that did not quite reach their eyes, and she had to fight the urge to shudder under their cold gaze.

“Yes.” His voice sounded strained.

“Would it be rude if I asked what happened to them?”

“They died shortly after I did,” he replied, finally looking at her with a curious light in his eyes that she thought might be sadness. “Same thing that got me.”

“Oh,” said Y/N, in a bit of a small voice. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry…”

He just chuckled. “I’ve had plenty of time to get over it.”

“So – er – what was the thing that got you, then?”

His mouth twitched, so she assumed she hadn’t bothered him too deeply. “Poison.”

Her jaw dropped. “ _Poison_? Someone poisoned you?”

He nodded, his eyes dancing a little at her shock. “I told you that the Malfoys were assholes. Some other noble family must have done it. We held lots of dinner parties, you see.”

She just stared at him for a long time, shocked, before she was able to recover herself and closing her mouth. “So why aren’t they here too, as ghosts? Your mother and father?”

“They redeemed themselves before they died, I was told,” he replied.

She had so many questions for him. Too many. She wanted to stop the question vomit, but how often did _this_ sort of opportunity come along? But suddenly he floated up almost to the ceiling, abruptly ending the conversation, and the look he was giving her was mischievous. “I have a less depressing room to show you, though,” he said, and with a wide smirk, he snapped his fingers.

She felt her feet begin to leave the ground, and she began to flail a little, but it only succeeded in turning her slightly sideways. “Hey! Draco! Hey, put me _down_! I told you that I wanted to walk!”

“Too bad,” he drawled, eyes glinting. “You’re far too slow, and the room is on the other side of the mansion, so just shut your mouth and let me get you there quickly.”

“You _asshole_ – ” she began furiously, as she floated higher and higher, but then stopped her insult to let out a little squeak of terror when she realized that she was almost as high up as he was.

He only looked very amused and snapped his fingers again, and she let out another gasp as she felt something that was like an invisible hook yanking her forward and out into the hall. She was speeding through the air, though now she was at least upright. “ _Draco_ _Malfoy_!” she cried. “I don’t care if you were a fucking _prince_ when you were alive, you put me down right this instant!”

“You mortals,” she heard him say. He was passing her and then turning around to float along in front of her, backward, looking very at ease and also extremely pleased with himself. “Always making such a fuss about silly things. You’ll be thanking me once we’re there.”

“Not if I fall and break my neck!” she insisted, glancing down at the ground and immediately regretting that decision when she saw how fast it was zooming below her and just how high up she was. She gasped again and covered her eyes.

“Oh, relax,” he said, and his voice was closer. 

She peeked through her fingers to see his usual intense gaze, this time only inches from her face. When he continued speaking, his voice was still teasing but also softer, and he was glowing brighter again. “As if I’d let _you_ fall.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: language


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story takes a bit, but it does pick up :)

The room Draco Malfoy had wanted to show her, as it turned out, had been the library, and it had been _incredible_. 

She had spent at least two hours in there, combing through what must have been thousands and thousands of books on gigantic, ceiling length bookshelves. 

He flew around the massive room library, sometimes slowly and sometimes at lightning speed, directing her to certain parts shelves, or sending books flying at her that she had to catch, making her promise she would read them, and this whole situation with him was making her so _happy_ and it was so very strange.

She couldn’t help but think, with bitter irony, that of _course_ her first and only friend would be a fucking ghost that was living in her home. 

Or was she living in _his_ home?

Best not think about it too deeply.

When her mother came home and Y/N heard her name being called, she shared a glance with Draco and he just grinned, floating backward through the wall and leaving her alone just in time for her mother to come into the doorway and her eyes to widen at the sight of the massive library.

* * *

The summer passed, quicker than she would have ever thought possible.

Y/N slowly got used to having an extra nonliving inhabitant in her home and had to accept the fact that she wasn’t, in fact, dreaming the whole thing up.

He would glide into her bedroom pretty much whenever he knew that her mother wasn’t there, giving her warning and asking permission from inside the wall, and then proceed to keep her company while she slowly unpacked and ordered things around. Sometimes he would complain when she moved furniture a certain way and snap his fingers and move it back; other times, to tease her, he would make her shoot up to the ceiling. She would always screech at him, which sometimes alarmed her mother and made her come running, and he would just disappear with a mischievous grin and a wink.

He also seemed to very much enjoy popping out of walls to scare her when she was walking down the hall. 

Once, out of indignation, she had even tried to smack him on the shoulder as she would another person. She had only gotten an ice cold feeling in her entire body and her hand had swiped right through his shoulder as he smirked at her.

They talked about books, and she showed him her paintings. Other times they played games. She slowly got used to the way he made things move without touching them. And she found herself realizing that for once, she wasn’t lonely, and for the first time in months, she found that she was no longer _wanting_ to be alone all the time. And she wished that he was actually alive.

The night before school started, she was sitting in her room and drawing when she heard a knock on the door. Draco, who had been perched beside her and watching her sketch very curiously, winked at her, floated over to the opposite wall, and promptly went invisible. She gritted her teeth in irritation but didn’t have time to tell him to get out, because her mother was walking in.

“Hi honey,” she said kindly. “That’s a nice drawing.” She examined it proudly for a few moments and then smiled at Y/N. “Ready for your first day tomorrow?”

“Thanks. And I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” Y/N replied, sighing a little. She scooted a little, indicating to her mother that it was fine with her if she sat on the bed.

Her mother looked positively delighted at this offering, and sat delicately on the edge of the bed, turning to face Y/N. “I know it will be hard to do this as a senior,” she said softly. “And I know you’re probably still angry with me about it. I _am_ sorry, honey. But I know it will all go well.” She put an arm around Y/N’s shoulders and gave her a mischievous little nudge, her voice becoming teasing. “And who knows? Maybe here you’ll meet a nice boy.”

“ _Mom_ ,” she protested, feeling her cheeks heat. She could practically _feel_ Draco chuckling silently on the other side of the room, and she predicted he would tease mercilessly for this. If she had learned anything about him over the past two months, it was that he loved to tease.

Her mother brushed hair from Y/N’s face affectionately. “He’d be proud of you.”

A lump rose in Y/N’s throat. “I miss him.”

“Me too, honey.” Her mother’s voice was shaking.

She didn’t want her mother to cry, because that would make her cry, so she quickly said, “I’m sorry, Mom. For being so cross with you. I wasn’t happy about moving, but I – I understand why you wanted to, and…well, I’ll try to make the best of it.”

Her mother hugged her tightly and kissed her on the forehead. “You’re such a good daughter, you know that? I love you, sweetheart. Sleep well.”

“Love you too,” Y/N said, and the lump hadn’t disappeared by the time her mother had left the bedroom. Almost instantly Draco was visible again, and he was floating back over to her with an expression on his face that she couldn’t quite place. She just sighed and said, “Well, go on, Draco.”

He arched an eyebrow as he settled beside her on (or, really, above) the bed again. “Go on, what?”

“I know you’re going to tease,” she said, rolling her eyes. “So just get on with it.”

He grinned, and his eyes danced in amusement. “I wasn’t going to tease.” Y/N just raised her eyebrows at him skeptically, and he smiled wider. “Okay, maybe I was going to a little.”

“Get it out,” said Y/N, tilting her head and folding her arms at him.

His eyes got a bit of an impish gleam in them. “Didn’t find many nice boys back home, then?”

“I knew it,” she muttered, flushing again. “That’s really none of your business.”

He snickered. “Your conversations with your mother are always so enlightening. This morning at breakfast I found out that you still sleep with a stuffed animal and slip it under your pillow in the morning.”

“Shut _up_ ,” she groaned, burying her face in her hands for a moment before looking up at him and giving him her best glare. “I’ve _told_ you how rude it is to eavesdrop. So how about this. Tell me something about you. Explain to me what you’re still doing here, because you never went into detail, and now you owe me. Come on then, why are you a ghost? Why are you frozen?”

He looked momentarily surprised, but then his face grew more serious. “I had unfinished business,” he said finally, with a little sigh.

“What sort of unfinished business?” she asked curiously.

“Don’t know,” he said, rather bitterly. “Bloody bastard wouldn’t tell me what I have to do to finally move on. Said I have to figure it out on my own for it to actually mean anything.”

“Hold on.” Y/N held up a hand and stared incredulously at him for a long moment. “Who are we talking about?”

Draco blinked, surprised. “Death, of course.”

Y/N just stared at him for a full ten seconds, her mouth hanging open, before she finally got her wits about her enough to say, very sarcastically, “Oh, of _course_. That was my first thought, you know.”

“ _Mortals_ ,” teased Draco, grinning at the way she narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t know shit.”

“I can’t wrap my head around this,” she said, and indeed her brain was still feeling rather numb. “Are you telling me that you _met_ Death?”

“Just the once,” he said casually, shrugging. “Very evasive. Not the friendliest either. Wouldn’t tell me why I was having to stay behind or how I could fix it. And the monthly meetings aren’t much better.”

“Monthly _meetings_?” she almost shrieked, eyes practically bulging out of her sockets and her jaw dropping even further.

“Oh yes,” he drawled, chuckling at her reactions. “I have to meet with some of Death’s workers, they ask for updates on how things are going, that sort of thing. Like a therapy for us ghosts to finally move on, only they don’t tell you how to actually do it. They _guide_ you.” His face twisted in disgust and irritation, and he rolled his eyes. “The whole thing is ridiculous. And you wouldn’t _believe_ the bureaucracy involved. You’d think you escape that sort of paperwork shit after you die, at least, but it follows you even _there_ – ”

“Stop,” she said weakly, putting up her hands. “I can’t…this is too much for me right now. I have to think about normal things, like how to survive my first day tomorrow.”

His face softened. “That will go just fine, Y/N.”

“What if I don’t make friends?” she whispered, feeling both pathetic and relieved for spilling her fears to him. 

But it didn’t matter anyway, did it? He already witnessed most, if not all, of the embarrassing or in-depth conversations with her mother, and she wouldn’t be able to keep anything like this from him for long. And maybe she didn’t really want to. She didn’t know why, but she did trust him. Deeply and implicitly.

“You will,” he said gently. “And besides, you’ve already made one.”

She gave him a shy smile. “I guess having a ghost around isn’t so bad.”

“It’s only because it’s me,” he said confidently, giving her a smug grin and a wink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: language


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We have officially passed build up/establishment, and the second half of this story takes off ;)

Time passed again.

Two more weeks, to be precise.

Y/N blended into her new school as best she could. People weren’t being mean, exactly, but she couldn’t say they were being welcoming, either. She got whispers and smirks sent her way, and the only thing that had been mildly positive had been on the first day, when people in her Calculus class had showed a (mostly morbid) interest when she had mentioned she was living at Malfoy Manor.

But she quickly fell into her pattern of blending into the wall, of burying herself in her books or her sketches at school, and things could certainly be worse.

And, just like Draco had said, here she actually _did_ have a friend.

Even if he was dead.

She had decided long ago to stop analyzing the fact that she was friends with a ghost and that his presence made her feel so warm and happy, because it was impossible to do anyway. It was hard enough to wrap her mind at the fact that he existed at all, and the fact that she got on with him so well was even more stupefying. But she found that he was smart, and funny, and dryly sarcastic, and showed a genuine interest in whatever she happened to be drawing or reading, and conversations with him were interesting and stimulating. If she was honest with herself, it had been one of the happiest summers she had ever had, even considering the bad things lately.

Things took a turn for the worse, however, Friday afternoon after the final bell at school, when someone knocked her books from her hands and sent them flying. She heard snickers up and down the hall, and someone muttered something that sounded very much like “ _Bookworm_ ,” in a tone that was scathing and not kind or affectionate as her mother’s was when she said it, and no one came to help her pick up the scattered books, either.

She wasn’t sure if the initial bump had been on purpose, but either way, she found herself gathering them up with tears in her eyes and hurrying home.

Draco usually waited for her in her room after school, but she didn’t want to see him just yet, so she stayed out on the grounds and went wandering out to a spot far, far away from the Manor, where her mother, too, was unlikely to come and find her.

The air was becoming crisp as the mid-September weather settled in, and she tugged her jacket tighter around her, shivering a little, but pressed on. When she found a spot of ground that looked comfortable enough she flopped down heavily, hearing the crunch of fallen leaves from the trees nearby. One of the best parts about this Manor was the fact that the gigantic grounds had so many trees. She couldn’t wait until she saw what spring would bring.

She pulled out a book and tried to concentrate. She tried to sketch and concentrate on that, too. When that didn’t work, she returned to her book.

Even when she started crying, she kept trying to press through and read, and ignore the choked feeling in her throat and the way that the tears were beginning to blur her vision and make the lines of the book run together. After two hours, it was beginning to grow dark, and she was shivering, but she still didn’t want to go back inside, even though reading out here would soon be pointless.

She eventually gave up on the reading and closed the book with a little sob and sat there, wiping the falling tears furiously from her cheeks with her sleeve.

“Y/N?”

She stiffened at Draco’s voice behind her, but there was no point trying to get away. He was stubborn, and faster, and besides, he could go through fucking walls. “Yes?” she said, not turning around and her voice thick with tears, but no more fell, and she wiped the rest off quickly.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he murmured, and she heard his voice getting nearer until it stopped right beside her. She just stared fixedly at the ground, but she could feel his eyes on her. “You’re crying,” he said suddenly, and he sounded so shocked that she looked up and into his face. His brow was furrowed and he looked rather horrified. “Did something happen?” he pressed.

“No,” she mumbled, grabbing some leaves from the ground and breaking them up in her fingers.

He watched the movements of her hands and then his gaze moved back up to her face, and she could tell, even without looking, that the look on his face was calculating. “Yes,” he determined. “Something happened at school today.”

She just shrugged. “I just don’t think they like me there.”

“Why would you think that?” His voice was carefully controlled.

“Someone knocked my books today,” she said miserably, feeling rather mortified about the whole thing as she remembered it. “I think it was on purpose.”

It was silent for a long time, and she chanced a peek up at him. He was staring at her face with a mixture of anger and anguish, but when he saw her looking he immediately straightened his face into a grin. “If I wasn’t confined to this Manor, I would haunt the shit out of them, if that makes you feel any better,” he offered, and she let out a little laugh at that and gave him a small smile. His smile widened in return. “But really, I think you’re great, Y/N,” he continued. “The best.”

“You’ve been trapped in a mansion alone for almost a century, Draco,” she sighed. “I appreciate that, but I’d bet that just about anyone would be great to you after all that time.”

“Is that what you think?” He chuckled. “That’s not true. I told you that my life is blurry, but I remember pieces. I certainly remember that you’re more interesting than anyone my age that I met when I was alive. And I met a lot. My family was trying to set up marriages for me, you know.”

This caused her to look up again in surprise. “I…don’t know, no.”

“Ah,” he mused, looking suddenly thoughtful. “Yes, I suppose you wouldn’t. The commoner chooses their spouse based on affection, don’t they?”

“The _commoner_?” Suddenly, she was giggling. “Your snobbery is showing.”

He didn’t even seem to mind being called a snob. He just rolled his eyes and grinned, seemingly very happy that he had managed to cheer her up. And indeed, she did feel much better already, and for a moment, they just gazed at each other, and then he gave her a breathtaking smile and moved his eyes out over the grounds with a little sigh.

“Draco?” she began tentatively.

“Hmm?” He looked over, the light back in his eyes that he got so often when looking at her.

“What’s death like? Not the bureaucracy part, but…you know. Actually dying.” He frowned, and she immediately started to say, “If – if that’s not a rude question. I don’t really know what’s…this isn’t really a situation I’ve…”

“I don’t really remember,” he said softly. “But I don’t think it was anything particularly special. Like falling asleep, only there was a light to follow.”

“It didn’t…hurt?”

“Well the poison part wasn’t pleasant. But the very end was painless,” he answered, shaking his head and smiling a little, and she just nodded and moved her gaze to some leaves that were currently falling from the tree beside them.

She was thinking of her father, and the day it had all gone wrong. She had been picked up from school by the local police that day, and they wouldn’t tell her what was happening, and they brought her home to her mother. And she had gotten out of the car, and she could hear her screaming and crying from the street, and she had known, she had just _known_ what had happened…

And they took her to her mother and told her that there had been an accident, an explosion. It had been quick, they’d said, and he hadn’t felt a thing. She’d always wondered if that was something that they had just said to make them feel better or if it had really been true, because his body had been so destroyed that the morgue had told them they shouldn’t look at him and see him that way.

“When did your father die?” It was as if he had read her mind, and Draco’s voice was very gentle.

“About eight months ago now.” Her voice wavered a little.

After a moment she felt a rush of cold sweep over her, like she had been pitched violently into a bucket of ice cold water, and she gasped, shivering violently. When she turned her head, she was surprised to see him leaning back quickly, glaring at the ground with a look of pure frustration on his face. “Damn it,” he muttered furiously, and with a jolt, she realized that he had tried to _hug_ her, and both her chest and throat tightened. “I’m sorry,” he said finally, looking up at her with a rather pained look on his face. “I’ve made you cold. I forgot for a moment…”

“T-that’s okay,” she chattered, clutching tightly at her jacket.

He hovered suddenly higher above the ground. “Let’s get you inside. Want it to go quicker?” He raised his hand and held it in snapping position with a little crooked grin.

She smiled back. “Sure.”

He complied with a snap of his fingers, and together they zoomed through the air, back to the warmth of the Manor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: language, angst


	5. Five

“You’ve been unnaturally quiet today,” Draco told her one weekend day toward the end of October.

“I’m always quiet when I’m sketching, Draco, you know that,” she said, suddenly realizing that she had her tongue between her teeth and slightly sticking out in concentration and immediately changing it.

“Oh, please don’t normalize your face on my account,” he teased, and she looked up to see his eyes glittering at her. She took one of the spare pencils sitting beside her on the bed and threw it at him, which of course did nothing but amuse him further, seeing as it flew right through his head and landed on the floor of her room with a clatter. “When are you going to learn that your violent tendencies don’t do anything to me?” he drawled, and she stuck her tongue out him.

“I’m trying to make you look beautiful here, so please resist your teasing for once,” she told him, picking up her pencil again and examining him with a concentrated look on her face.

“Ah yes, can’t have you messing up my beauty,” he mused, and she just rolled her eyes and bent over the sketchpad again, meticulously drawing a few lines, though she could feel his eyes on her. “And what will you do if your mother finds this lovely drawing of me, hmm? What will you tell her?”

“Oh, she already has,” she murmured, feeling her cheeks heat a little.

“Oh?” His eyes were trained attentively on her face when she looked up. “And?”

“She made a comment about it not being a boy at my school,” Y/N answered, ducking back over her drawing hastily and adding more shading around his cheekbones, glancing up at him in between to make sure she was capturing him correctly. “Stupid small towns. And I kind of…panicked and told her that it was a boy that I saw in a dream to get her to stop asking questions.”

“In a _dream_?” He sounded extremely amused now. “So I’m dreamy, is that what you’re saying?”

“We’ve talked about your vanity, haven’t we Draco?” she said sweetly, arching an eyebrow at him. “And besides, you’re certainly not normal.” She gestured up and down him pointedly. “What did you want me to do, explain this situation to her?”

“No,” he said, looking incredibly self-satisfied. “That would make it far harder for me to eavesdrop on her during the day, wouldn’t it?”

Y/N groaned. “You’re terrible.”

“You love my company, don’t even try to deny it,” he said smugly. “But why don’t you tell me what’s actually on your mind, because I know there’s something. I know you’re usually quiet when you sketch, but you’ve been randomly smiling at your sketchbook every few minutes with eyes glazed over like donuts. Is it my raging good looks?” He smirked, and she looked up to gape at him.

“Fine,” she said finally. “I’ll tell you. I happen to have a date to the Halloween dance tomorrow.”

The smirk disappeared almost immediately from his face. “Wait, what?”

Y/N had bent back over the drawing and was again shading with painstaking precision. “Which part didn’t you understand?” she teased, still not glancing up. 

It was stupid that her heart rate was going faster. She knew that. She pushed it away, because it made no sense.

“With who?” he pressed.

She looked up with a sigh. “You don’t know anyone at the school, Draco.”

“You’d be surprised what I know,” he said. “Go on, tell me.” He was watching her with a frown.

“Paul Hanford,” Y/N said finally.

“The _quarterback_?” Draco just stared at her with his mouth ajar.

She set her pencil down and sighed. “Yes. He asked me yesterday.”

“But weren’t you just saying that you were having your books knocked out of your hands in the halls a few weeks ago? And now the star quarterback of the school wants to take you to the dance at the last minute? Don’t you find that…suspicious?”

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him. “What are you saying? How could the most popular boy in school be interested in _me_ , is that what you’re hinting at, Draco?”

He blinked, and then looked rather appalled. “What? No, I – ”

“Why would someone like Paul Hanford ask _me_ , the weird girl who always reads or sketches alone, is that what you’re wanting to imply?”

“ _No_! Fuck that’s not what I – he’s just a complete fucking dolt, isn’t he?” sputtered Draco desperately. “A real meathead, and he has a short fuse, the way I hear it…”

“How would you know?” Y/N asked indignantly.

“Your mother _always_ has someone over for lunch, and they _always_ gossip,” Draco answered, frowning again as he took in her irritated expression. “And apparently this guy got so mad once after losing a game that he smashed his head into _multiple_ lockers, dented the fucking things…” He suddenly scoffed rather viciously. “Probably damaged his brain too, while he was at it – or at least damaged it more than it already was, the tosser…”

“Only brain damaged people want to date me then?” Y/N pressed, glaring.

“ _No_ ,” he emphasized angrily. “I’m not having a go at you, Y/N… _Jesus_ , that’s the exact opposite of what I – _you_ are out of _his_ league – ”

“Hold on.” Y/N held up a hand and stared at him incredulously. “Are you… _jealous_?”

He blanched, and then zoomed up into the air suddenly without even seeming to realize that he had done it, peering down at her with his aristocratic features twisted into a scathing look and glowing suddenly brighter. “ _Jealous_? Of what, that idiot? Please.” He scoffed again.

“Yes,” Y/N continued, her voice shaking. “He’s alive, and you’re not. And so you’re trying to discourage me from going? And for what, Draco? So I’ll stay here in this mansion with you and you can have me all to yourself so you have company? Do you have any idea how _unhealthy_ that is?”

“I – I’m not…” He just gaped at her, seemingly lost for words, and slowly floated back down to hover over the bed, but she shook her head.

“I can continue this without you, I think,” she said quietly, and when he just stared at her, lips pursed, she gave him another pointed look. “Alone time, Draco. I want it. Please leave, and don’t you dare come through the walls without warning.”

“Fine,” he muttered, looking very dejected as he slowly hovered into the air again and drifted through the wall behind her bed, out in the direction of the grounds.

Y/N just stared down at the half finished sketch of her closest friend and brushed a few stray tears away so they wouldn’t fall and ruin the drawing; and she also tried very hard not to imagine what things would be like or who her date would be if Draco were indeed alive.

* * *

When her mother came in to her room on the night of the dance, all Y/N had to do to finish the look was to put on a necklace, and so she turned to let her mother fasten it when she came up to Y/N with a huge smile.

“You look so lovely,” her mother said, looking a little tearful as she fastened the necklace. When Y/N turned to face her, her mother brushed some hair out of her face affectionately. “And I see you’ve done something different with your hair. It looks beautiful, honey.”

“Thank you,” said Y/N, and on an impulse she threw her arms around her mother and hugged her tightly. 

She wasn’t sure why she was feeling so down. Tonight might very well be her last chance to go to a school dance like the other teenagers seemed to like doing. It was an experience that she had never had, so she should be excited.

Well, okay, it wasn’t exactly true that she wasn’t sure why. She knew it had to do with her argument with Draco yesterday, whom she hadn’t seen since.

After a few more minutes with her, her mother departed downstairs and planned to meet her at the front door in half an hour to take her to the school, and she decided to use the time to try and find Draco. She had done so a few times today and hadn’t been successful – usually if she wanted to find him she could do so in the portrait room, but he hadn’t even been there. She hoped he would be now, because she realized that she was rather desperate to set things right before she went.

When she opened the bedroom door, however, he was already there in the hall, clearly wavering and trying to decide whether he should try and come see her or not. She just gave him a small smile and stepped back, wordlessly inviting him into the room, and he floated ethereally inside, passing her as she shut the door and turned to face him, taking a deep breath.

“I’m sorry,” they both said at the same time, and then laughed nervously.

“I shouldn’t have rubbed your death in your face,” she said, biting her lip.

“You weren’t wrong,” he said softly, gliding a little closer until he was right in front of her. “It isn’t healthy to want you to spend most of your time with me. I don’t have much practice being unselfish, you see. Not alone here for so long, and certainly not in my life.” He shrugged, and then his eyes swept over the dress that she was wearing. “You look very beautiful,” he murmured finally, giving her a small smile.

“Thank you,” she said, flushing.

_This is mad_ , she thought to herself. _Absolutely mad_. _There is no reason your heart should be going this fast, or for these butterflies to be in your stomach. He’s dead, you absolute buffoon,_ _dead_ _…_

“I do hope you have fun,” he said finally, after a long silence, a grin quirking one side of his mouth up. “Can I come see you when you get back? I have a bloody monthly meeting tonight, but it shouldn’t take longer than your dance…”

“Of course,” Y/N said, nodding. “Good luck with your meeting.”

He floated a little closer, and his eyes burned brightly at her for a moment. “Just imagine I hugged you goodbye,” he said quietly, very regretfully, and then he glided away through the wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: language, angst


	6. Six

“So. Draco Malfoy.”

The worker, one of Death’s lackeys, opened Draco’s file and glanced over it with lips pursed in concentration. 

It was a woman. Or at least, the being was in what _looked_ like a woman’s body, and she was dressed in the standard black suit that they all seemed to wear, with slicked back hair. She also looked very severe. Draco has had her before for one of his monthly meetings, and he remembered it being concise and to the point.

He was just fine with that. Especially tonight.

The worker, however, seemed to become more interested when her eyes came to the end of his file. Her lips suddenly were not such a thin line anymore, and the look on her face became very intrigued. When she finally looked up, she was gazing at Draco with curiosity. “It says here that at your last monthly meeting you mentioned meeting a girl,” the worker prompted.

Draco squirmed on the chair. Or in the air, really. This was where he was supposed to talk about his life for the past month and try and make himself look as good as possible. The worker was supposed to “guide” you (whatever the hell _that_ meant) toward crossing over. Moving on. Whatever you wanted to call it, it was essentially a therapy that led to not being a ghost anymore.

“Yes,” he said finally, not knowing what else to add.

“The last worker wrote something very interesting about that,” she commented.

Draco just rose an eyebrow at her, waiting.

“They wrote that you displayed curious body language when speaking about your relationship to this human,” she read, eyes now on the page in his file with a little frown. “And that while you seemed reluctant to speak about her, it was clear you have feelings of affection for the girl.” She looked up, and there was a slightly amused smile was on her face. “Is this true?”

“Well I – yes,” he muttered. 

They always knew if he was lying. It would just make him look bad.

“They wrote that you actually forgot you were a ghost momentarily and tried to hug her,” the worker continued, eyes flicking down to the page to read it before meeting with his again and tilting her head at him. “Explain.”

“I just…wanted to touch her,” Draco said hastily, shifting again and feeling very uneasy with the piercing eyes of this worker on him. “She was upset, and I wanted to make her feel better.”

“How did you feel when you couldn’t?”

“Angry,” he responded, narrowing his eyes.

She closed her eyes for a moment, and her body began to vibrate and emit a faint glow. Draco knew what she was doing, and he waited, biting his lip, while she examined what had happened over the past month. 

She was rifling through all of his moments like a filing cabinet. There was absolutely no privacy when you were a ghost.

Draco hated these monthly meetings.

Finally, she opened her eyes. The vibrations stopped, and the glow of light that she had been radiating faded. “And how did you feel when she told you that another boy was taking her to the school dance?”

Draco gaped at her. “Not too happy,” he muttered finally, staring hard at her desk.

“You may do well to remember that she is alive and you are dead, Mr. Malfoy,” said the worker briskly, and Draco glared at her. “That being said, I think that this could be an area that is potentially helpful for you in terms of growth. Any sort of relationship with someone else could certainly build on the past century of musings about your guilt and regret for your self-absorption from your life. I know, for example, that you have been rather dejected since your little argument with her yesterday. I also know that she accused you of trying to keep her only with you, and that it wasn’t healthy. What do you think about that?”

“I know she’s right,” he mumbled, hating this conversation. “But I also had reservations about…about that situation that had nothing to do with me.”

“Yes, I know that you’re being honest about that,” the worker said softly.

She leaned forward suddenly. “What if I told you that she was at that dance and very unhappy? Her date was only using her to have a date after breaking up with a recent girlfriend. How do you feel about that, Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco squirmed again and then finally said, very exasperatedly, “I’d like to be waiting for her when she comes home. Can we end this, please?”

“Why?” the worker pressed. 

She seemed to be waiting for Draco to say something crucial.

“I – don’t want her to be sad,” he said.

“So this isn’t about you?” she asked shrewdly, leaning forward even further. “This isn’t about you getting what you want?”

“I can’t have what I want,” said Draco, very quietly.

The worker smiled brightly and sat up straighter in her chair. And then she snatched a piece of paper from beside her and began scribbling on it furiously. “I’m authorizing four hours only,” she said, looking sternly up at Draco. “Part of the evening, and – ”

“Hang on,” said Draco, feeling suddenly very confused. “Four hours for what?”

She just stamped the paper and, with a significant look on her face, she waved her hand so that it flew over to him and hovered in the air so that he could read it. His eyes widened as he the scanned the title of the very official looking document floating in front of him.

_**Official Permission for Temporary Corporeal Status** _

“You’re giving me my body back,” he said, stunned.

“Only for four hours,” she repeated again, waving her hand and causing the paper to fly back over to her. “Until midnight. As part of your therapy.”

“Thank you,” he said hoarsely, hardly daring to believe that this was happening.

“Use it well,” the worker said, and snapped her fingers.

Abruptly, Draco opened his eyes.

He was no longer in the horrible blinding white room with the desk where he had his monthly meetings. Nor was he in the Manor. He was standing in what seemed to be a parking lot, and for a moment just this fact was so shocking that he stood there, letting it course through his veins that he was _free_. And then he looked down at his feet, and realized they were touching the ground.

“Holy shit,” he gasped, fumbling up to touch his neck. 

He felt a pulse. He was _alive_.

And he was also, he realized, wasting precious time. 

He glanced down over himself to see if he was even halfway presentable. He was wearing a suit, which he supposed he should thank his worker for, and it was even tasteful; something he would have worn when he was alive. He had a jacket tucked over it to protect against the cold, because he could _feel_ that now.

Running one hand through his hair – marveling silently at the feel of it on his fingers, the feel of _everything_ – he immediately began sweeping forward toward the direction of blaring music, which he assumed was the gymnasium and where the Halloween Dance at the school was in full swing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: language


	7. Seven

Y/N was standing at the punch table and watching her date have his fourth dance with his ex-girlfriend, trying to ignore the stares.

Maybe she was just being paranoid because she was mortified about her current situation, but she was _quite_ certain that the stares were intensifying, and that people were even starting to whisper behind their hands.

She drained the cup of punch and set it down, and was just considering leaving the room for a while under the pretense of going to the restroom – and instead going off to collect herself – when someone tapped her shoulder twice. Grimacing a little and bracing herself, she turned.

“Hi there,” Draco said, grinning at the stunned look on her face.

“What are you – how are you _here_?” she said, in a hushed sort of shout.

His smile widened, and then he sighed dramatically. “First of all, Y/N, such talk makes me think you’re not happy to see me – ”

“Of _course_ I’m happy to see you,” she replied impatiently, which made him look very smug indeed. “But…” She glanced around to where most of the students in the immediate vicinity were staring at them intently and then looked back up at him. And then her eyes widened and she choked back a little gasp when she _really_ saw his edges, and that he was very much solid.

He smirked. “Got there, have you? They’re just staring because I’m incredibly good-looking, obviously.” He swept a hand over himself, down his blue suit, and her eyes ran over him and down to his feet. They were touching the ground.

“How did you – _Draco_ – ” she whispered, her brain too frozen to say or do anything else but stand there, staring up at him.

He put his right hand out, palm up. His eyes had that intense light in them that she was used to, and he looked suddenly very serious. “Dance with me?” he murmured.

Hardly daring to believe it, she tentatively reached out her hand to place it in his palm. She was half expecting to swipe through him, to feel that sensation of ice cold chill as she had so many times before, but neither of those things happened. Instead, her hand rested in his warm one, and he immediately wrapped his fingers around hers. His eyes never left her astonished ones, and then a slow smile spread over his face before he pulled her out to the middle of the dance floor, spinning easily to face her and placing his hands on her hips. 

Still half dazed, she put her hands on his shoulders, marveling that she was feeling a real human underneath her fingertips.

Slowly, they began to rotate in a small circle. His eyes never left hers, and for two full circles, neither of them said anything. She was trying to get over the fact that Draco was here, and solid, and very much a regular teenage boy, somehow, and a good-looking one that was looking at her like _that_. It was almost dizzying to look at him now, despite the months of seeing him everyday.

“I – I don’t understand,” she whispered finally. “Are you…?”

He took one of her hands of his and brought it down to place it against his chest, smiling when her eyes widened at the steady heartbeat she felt there. And then her eyes filled with tears, and she almost choked. “You’re really alive.”

“Just for a few hours.” His eyes swept over her face, and he frowned a little at the tears accumulating in her eyes. “Y/N?” He sounded concerned.

She just responded by suddenly throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. All the times she had ever wanted to hug him, and here she finally could, and she was pressed against him and feeling how warm he was, and how steady, and she never, ever wanted to let go.

But in response to her touch he let out a little sound of surprise. She felt his whole body stiffen, and she pulled back a little and peeked at his face, worried that she had done something wrong or gone too far.

“It’s just – it’s a lot. After so long…I’m not used to…” His voice was hoarse and his eyes were squeezed shut, and she realized just how overloaded his sense of touch must be. She began to pull away, back to a more distanced dancing position, but he wrapped his arms tighter around her and kept her there. “No,” he said, rather fiercely. “Don’t go. I’ll get used to it.”

They rotated like this for another minute or two, just savoring the feeling of closeness, before she let out a little laugh of disbelief and shook her head.

“What is it?” he murmured. His arms tightened even more.

“I fancy a dead boy,” she whispered back, into his chest. “Just my luck.”

She felt the slight shake of his body when he laughed. She just clung to him a little tighter, still marveling at the feel of him and her heart pounding at the close proximity and the boldness of her confession. His chuckles were pleasant, and after a moment his deep voice was saying into her ear, “They aren’t too happy about it on my end either, believe me.”

“They know?” she questioned, eyes widening and wondering just how embarrassed she should be about that.

“They know how strong _my_ feelings are for _you_ , yes,” he answered, and she glanced up him to see that he was smiling affectionately down at her. Very carefully, he touched her face with his right hand, swiping one thumb gently over one of her cheekbones. “I have a monthly therapy, remember?”

“Draco,” she said, a little breathlessly, feeling the stupid tears again. “This isn’t fair.”

His eyes flicked down to her mouth, and she felt her heart increase to a painful velocity. But it was quick, and then he was back to looking at her eyes very intently, hands back on her hips and tugging her a little closer.

“No,” he agreed quietly, his brow furrowing and sadness twisting his features for a moment. “It really isn’t.” And then his eyes trailed up and over her head, and his body was shaking with laughter again. “Someone looks furious over there, and I assume it is your date. It’s probably a good thing I’m already technically dead. Though let’s hope he doesn’t kill me. The paperwork would be horrendous.”

“Interesting how he all of the sudden cares what I’m doing,” she said.

“I’m guessing he’s never dealt with rejection,” Draco answered, grinning rather savagely and looking down at her with eyes glittering.

She had been so wrapped up in Draco’s presence that she had rather forgotten about the others in the room, and she realized now just how many stares they were getting. Even people that were dancing with their dates were shamelessly watching her dance with him rather than paying attention to each other, and she sighed quietly to herself.

Okay, so she had known Draco was attractive before.

He had looked human enough for her to notice, of course, but seeing as he had been a ghost, she hadn’t let her mind stray to romance. Not _really_. The emotional side of it all had been intense and powerful, of course, but thinking of it that way would have been…a little crazy.

Hell, it was _still_ insane.

_Now_ though…he had a body, a tall, nice one, and she obviously hadn’t been wrong about how attractive he had been. It was almost painful.

“I don’t like the staring,” she mumbled finally. “Can we go outside?”

“Of course,” he answered easily, his fingers running up and down her back and making her shiver a little against him. And delightfully, it wasn’t from being cold. “This is your night, after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: language


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot happening in this chapter ;) Still only rated PG-13, but take note of the warnings if you need to.

She led Draco out to the expansive back lawn, where the grass was slightly damp from the frost and cold but neither of them cared, settling easily down on the ground. She could just make out the football field in the distance.

“Look,” Draco murmured, scooting closer and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She forgot how to breathe for a moment due to his proximity, and he was pointing above, to the sky, and then he turned his head to look at her and gave her a little grin. “That’s my constellation.”

“ _Your_ constellation?” she questioned, staring at the pattern his finger was tracing in the air and trying to see exactly what he was pointing out.

“Yes. See? The dragon.” He moved his finger again in the motion, and when she followed it she could make out the shape. “My mother’s side of the family had a tradition with naming their children after stars or constellations.”

“Sounds fancy,” she teased, peeking at him out of the corner of her eye. “And what would they think about me, the commoner?”

“I don’t care,” he breathed, nuzzling into her neck with a content, shuddering sigh.

His movements around her were always slow, and slightly halted, and she was sure to give him plenty of time to do anything and not make any sudden movements. She didn’t want to overwhelm him. But then he shifted to open his jacket, inviting her to share it with him, and when she adjusted her position to do so he wrapped it and his arms around her. “Are you warm?” he murmured.

She snuggled further into his side. His arm was still tucked around her and her head was resting on his shoulder, and she sighed happily. “Mhm. Very.”

It was perfect. _He_ was perfect, here against her. 

And it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair.

“You have no idea how good that is to hear,” he said back, very quietly and indeed with a triumphant edge in his voice. “That I can keep you warm for once. I always hated that I made you so cold.”

“Why can’t you stay?” she whispered sadly.

“I wish I could, Y/N,” he said, sounding just as regretful. “You have no idea how much I wish I could. But we can enjoy this now.” 

And then his fingers were on her chin, tilting her head up, and he was leaning down to press his lips to hers. She had never kissed anyone before, so it was surprising, to say the least. But she liked it, and it seemed to affect him even more, because almost as soon as he had kissed her he had to pause, with a little sigh, and lean his forehead against hers for a few moments before he seemed able to continue. 

When he brought his mouth back to hers she gave him some time before she tentatively wrapped her hands around his neck and pressed herself closer; his fingertips tightened on her in response.

She tried to appreciate it all. Every single moment of the rest of the time they spent there, alone and together on the lawn outside. It was much better than the dance, being here with him and feeling his hands on her hips and her back and her face and running through her hair. There were frequent pauses where they simply sat huddled together in silence and looked at the stars, enjoying the closeness and warmth of the other and exchanging a few words here and there; there were also plenty of heated make out sessions. 

The one thing they didn’t do too much was talk. There would be plenty of time for talking – all they could do, really – when he turned back.

Which, coincidentally, was already happening soon.

The time had passed so quickly, _too_ quickly, and she saw him checking a watch on his wrist more and more often, each time looking more anguished, until finally one time she covered it with her hand and kissed him. “Stop looking,” she whispered.

“Listen to me,” he murmured, setting his gaze on her and his eyes suddenly burning bright. “You know that this was a one off, right? You know that we can’t – you said yourself that it isn’t healthy if we…” 

She knew exactly what he meant, and he was right, and she agreed, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. “Not because I don’t want it,” he said hoarsely, cupping her cheek in his hand, and she just closed her eyes and sighed. “But you’re going to graduate, Y/N. What are you going to do, stay in the mansion forever? In this town?” He shook his head. “I’ll love every moment you’re here, but soon you’ll have to go off to do amazing things.” He gave her a small smile.

“What about you, Draco?” she mumbled. “I don’t want to just leave you there.”

“I’m dead, love,” he answered softly, moving his thumb across her face. “Eventually I’ll be gone too. And even if I wasn’t, you _can_ leave me there. You have to.” 

His eyes were burning bright again – his whole body, in fact – and the warmth was beginning to fade. She choked a little, and he leaned forward to kiss her very softly. One last time. “I won’t keep you from the world, Y/N,” he murmured.

He could feel himself slipping away. She could tell that he could. He was getting brighter and brighter, and his edges were becoming faded, and she could tell by the way that his face was twisted in sorrow that he knew. When she began to shiver, he sighed regretfully and pulled his hand away, and then his whole body, and she didn’t want to be but she was starting to cry.

Slowly, his edges blurred; he was becoming more transparent again.

And then it was one minute past midnight, and it was over. He was a ghost once more and she would never get to touch him or kiss him or feel him hold her again.

But before either one of them could say anything, something else happened.

A blinding beam of white light appeared, shooting out of Draco’s hand. 

It was silent, but it was so powerful that she had to squint, struggling to see him. She was confused, at first, and she could see that same confusion mirrored on Draco’s face. But when another beam of white light shot through his other hand, he slowly lifted them both up to stare at them in awe. And then his eyes moved to hers, and she could see that his were flooded in comprehension.

She understood too, before he even had to say it.

“I’m crossing over,” he said. His voice was shaking. 

More beams of light were appearing, now in his abdomen and chest, but he wasn’t looking at them. He was only looking at her face.

She felt horror and panic wash over her so strongly that it made her dizzy, and the urge to reach out and grab hold of him was almost suffocating. Of course, she couldn’t. And she knew she should be happy for him, but she couldn’t quite manage it. Even though he _had_ been dead this entire time, it had never really felt like it. Especially not after tonight. But now – now his business was finished, and he was leaving, he was really, _truly_ dying –

He would be gone forever, just like her beloved father.

“ _No_ ,” she choked, feeling selfish but unable to keep the word back. “Draco, _no_ …”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. His voice was already getting faint, and three beams of light abruptly appeared in his chest. Still, his eyes never left hers. “I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

The beams of light multiplied and absorbed his entire body, and her eyes were watering now not only from her sobbing but also from the blinding white light that was emitting from him. She wanted to say something but the lump in her throat was too large, too constricting. The last thing she saw of his face before it was completely consumed in the light was him smiling sadly at her.

She cried out, reached an arm forward, and opened her mouth to speak.

But the light had swallowed him whole, and faded, and she was left staring at an empty space where Draco Malfoy used to be.

Numbly, she turned around. 

She didn’t want to see the spot. There was nothing to see, but there should be, and that was too painful to consider. So she sat down and stared off unseeingly in another direction for a long time. After some time the tears came, and then the horrible, gut-wrenching sobs, and when she didn’t have any water left in her to shed a single tear, she stood up, shivering.

She didn’t know where she was going to go, but it wouldn’t be back to the Manor. Not right now. She didn’t want to face that place just yet.

Her mind was still so dulled that she didn’t even hear the footsteps behind her.

It happened very quickly.

She was just about to turn and go, to blindly walk off in some direction just to get far away from here, when she heard a crunching sound; and then she felt an extremely sharp pain in her chest. She gasped involuntarily, because it was the worst pain she had ever felt – unbelievably strong – and then she cried out, clutching wildly at where the sensation was originating but feeling her sense of reality beginning to slip. 

She was wheezing, and her vision was going dark when she fell to her knees.

Something was sharp on her fingertips.

The last thing she saw was blood – _so much blood_ , gushing out of her and onto the ground – and the blade of a knife protruding from her chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: language, angst, violence, slight gore/blood


	9. Nine

Everything was white.

It was so _bright_. Too bright.

Slowly, her vision began to clear and come into focus so that she could make out shapes. Very vague shapes, but shapes all the same.

Huh. Strange.

It seemed that she was in a sort of hallway. It was a very small hallway, though, and there was only one door. She was already standing in front of it, too, and experimentally she lifted her hand. It looked the same as it had before, and there was no trace of blood on it. Frowning in confusion, she lifted her other hand to stare at it and wiggled her fingers. Everything functioned normally.

She looked down at her chest. Still no blood.

She was wearing her favorite outfit, the comfortable T-shirt and sweats combination that she often used when she sat and sketched for hours on end. Her eyes ranged over it for a moment, trying to remember what had happened, and why she was here, and why she expected to see blood. But it was all too hazy and like trying to wade through quicksand in her mind.

Glancing up again, she noted that there was a little sign on the door. It read:

_Current waiting time: 2 hours._

She just stared at it for a long time, feeling distinctly irritated. Why was she outside a waiting room? She vaguely remembered again that there should be blood on her chest. She looked down at it once more, and then she recalled that there had been a blade there. “Am I dead?” she whispered, squinting up at the sign on the door again as if that would explain what was going on.

It didn’t. 

It just flickered and added twenty minutes to the waiting time.

Pursing her lips, she checked the hall once more to make sure there were no other doors before she decided that her best bet was to just go into the damn waiting room and hope there was somebody that she could pester for answers. And so she grabbed the door handle and wrenched it open, stepping purposefully inside. It was decorated much the same way any standard waiting room would be decorated – little tables on either sides of chairs, stacked with magazines. Boring paintings on the walls, and plants dotted throughout the room. 

The other inhabitants of the waiting room only glanced up with a distinctly bored air when she came in.

All except one with white-blonde hair, and he sprang to his feet upon seeing her.

Her heart shot into her throat when she saw him. “Draco?” She was still feeling very disoriented. Flashes of things were crossing her mind: Draco in that suit, his lips on hers, a blinding white light; and the blood, all of that blood….

“ _Y/N_?” 

He sounded equal parts aghast and amazed. He crossed the room in two long strides and pulled her to the closest pair of chairs, sitting her down, turning to face her, and taking her hands in his. She just stared into his anxious eyes, trying to slowly piece it all together.

This was Draco Malfoy. 

He had been a ghost, but here he wasn’t. They had been friends. And lovers. He had been dead, but then alive, and he had held her for a few hours. And then he had died again, _really_ died, and left her all alone. And then…

It got hazier at that point, and she was distracted from her struggle to remember when Draco put his hands on her face, searching her features rather desperately. “ _Please_ don’t tell me you’ve done something rash,” he said, sounding increasingly more agitated. “How are you here, Y/N?”

“I – I don’t…” Almost absentmindedly, her hand trailed down to her chest, wincing even though there was nothing to feel. There was no pain here, she realized. No discomfort. Draco’s hands were touching her, and she could feel the pressure of it, but there was no heat or cold. Everything was neutral.

His eyes flicked down to where her fingers were lingering on her sternum, and he frowned. “I know it’s hazy at first,” he murmured, running his hands through her hair. “I know it’s hard to remember right after you die. But try, Y/N. What happened after I crossed over?”

“I’m dead,” she whispered, and it wasn’t a question this time.

The realization was sinking over her, slow and heavy, and again she fumbled at her chest, expecting to feel something sharp, and it hit her. “Someone _killed_ me! A knife! There was a knife in my chest when I looked down…there was blood…it _hurt_ …” She saw Draco’s eyes flicker, and she continued on in a little squeak, “But my mother! My mother, my mother, she’s going to…she’s all alone, Draco, my _mother_ …” She let out a little gasp, but found that despite wanting to, she couldn’t cry. There were no tears in her body. No water. Instead, her face just crumpled into an expression of pure agony and she let out a little wail before Draco yanked her to his chest and held her there tightly.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, sounding nearly as tormented as she felt.

“Where are we?” she was able to get out, after a few moments.

“The in-between,” he explained. “We wait here and when they call us, we…move on.”

“What does that mean?” she asked, voice muffled into his chest. She felt suddenly afraid. So, so afraid. 

It wasn’t possible that she would have to part from Draco again, was it? Not now, not after all this? He was the only thing she had left, the very last thing that she had…

“I don’t know,” he said quietly, rubbing a hand on her back to soothe her. “No one does until they get in that room, and then it’s too late to ask.”

A door suddenly opened on the far side of the room, and a toneless voice said, “Draco Malfoy.”

She felt Draco stiffen against her, and suddenly she was clinging to him, almost clawing at his back. If she were able to sob here, she would have been, but as it was she could only let out anguished little sounds of protest, and she could feel that he was holding onto her just as tightly.

“Draco Malfoy!” the voice insisted again, clearly irritated at the wait.

“Not again,” she pleaded into his ear. “Please…”

Seemingly making up his mind, Draco stood and pulled Y/N with him, a determined look on his face. Lacing his fingers through hers, he led her over to stand in front of the worker. 

It looked human in appearance though Y/N was quite certain it wasn’t a woman. She (or it) wore a black suit, and her eyes flicked over the two of them disapprovingly. Before she could speak, however, Draco had opened his mouth and said very aggressively, “She’s coming with me. We stay together.”

Y/N’s grip on his arm tightened when she saw that the worker’s mouth had become a thin line. Clearly, she didn’t take well to being ordered around.

“You come into life alone and you leave alone,” the worker snapped, glaring at Draco. “There are _no_ exceptions. The girl sits, and you come with me.”

“ _Please_ ,” Y/N whispered brokenly, but the worker just shook her head, gesturing forward impatiently with her arm and arching an eyebrow at Draco. 

Draco turned to Y/N very slowly, his movements halted and his eyes tortured and blazing, and then he took her face in his hands and kissed her fiercely. It wasn’t warm, and it only felt like pressure, but she still savored every second.

When he pulled away his forehead was against hers again. And when he spoke, his voice was even and reassuring, and the light in his eyes was the most intent she had ever seen it. He moved his hands down to her shoulders and stared down at her. “I’ll find you,” he told her. “We’ll find each other. I swear it, Y/N.”

“Let’s go,” said the worker, rolling their eyes and looking more angry by the second.

“I love you,” Y/N told him steadily, relinquishing his arm and despising it.

He took a few paces toward the door, backward, still looking at her. “I love you too,” he said. “And I’ll see you soon. Okay?” His voice was still fierce and reassuring but she could see the uncertainty and fear in his eyes, and she knew that it was on her face as well. 

Because of course they had no way of knowing any of this. But she _had_ to embrace the hope or else she thought she would truly go mad.

“Somewhere,” Draco said earnestly as he continued slowly backward through the archway of door, gazing at her. “Somehow. I’ll find you, I _promise_ …”

And then he was through the door, and the worker was slamming it irritably behind them, and the waiting room was silent once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: language, angst, slight gore


	10. Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter! I hope you enjoy it :) Thank you to those reading this!

Waiting rooms are bad enough under any circumstances, but _this_.

The next three hours – because the wait time had increased while she was there – were a special kind of torture. She found herself wishing that if there was some kind of hell, that she would just be sent there rather than this terrible in between of not knowing, just after losing Draco again…

People came and went, but she ignored them. She didn’t care enough to pay attention. Not in her miserable daze of confusion and loss.

But finally, _finally_ – after what felt like a lifetime – she heard her name being called.

“Y/N Y/L/N.” It was the same woman-thing from earlier, and still as if in a horrified trance, Y/N got up and followed the same path as Draco had earlier, right through the archway of the door and into the room beyond.

She knew he had come through hours ago, but she couldn’t help her eyes sweeping the room for him. It was, of course, unsuccessful. He wasn’t there.

What _was_ there was endless space. 

Or perhaps time. 

A void? 

She wasn’t quite sure.

It looked like a room in some ways, but there were also what appeared to be swirling vortexes, above her and around her and going on as far as she could see. When she looked up, there were even more, and she also noted that they were hovering in different directions. Even _she_ wasn’t exactly upright. But there was no upright here. No up, no down, no left or right.

It just _was_.

And directly in front of her was a desk, and sitting on it was the most stunning man Y/N had ever seen. For a long moment, she just stared at him.

Then the man smirked, waved his hand, and a chair appeared on the other side of the desk, though it was hovering sideways. “Have a seat, Y/N,” the man suggested, arching his eyebrow at her. She approached it and eased in, and slowly it righted itself to be the correct direction and in line with the desk.

She just gazed at him as he opened a very thick file with the casual flick of his hand. No part of his body came into contact with the file, but it opened all the same.

“Well,” he said, sounding vaguely amused and giving her a small grin. “Let’s see. Number six thousand and two.” His eyes flicked through the file and then he laughed suddenly. “Well _well_. Stabbed from behind by your date to the Halloween dance in high school, because he had anger issues and was furious that you showed him up with another boy: one Draco Malfoy, who happened to be dead and you met as a ghost living in your home, but was _actually_ technically alive at the dance because he was briefly on Earth as a part of his ghostly therapy.” He glanced up at you, his mouth quirking up further. “Wow. Well, this probably was one of the most interesting ones, I’d say. And nearly the most violent. Except for that one time…what was it? Two billion and three? My, that bus really smashed you good. They were cleaning pieces of you off the street.”

His eyes glittered at her, and Y/N finally found her voice. “Who are you?”

“Death, of course.” He placed his fingertips together and observed her over them.

“And – and this is…just one of my lives?” she said, her mouth hanging open.

“To oversimplify it, yes,” he answered, his eyes on the file again.

“So that’s it then. Reincarnation is real?” she pressed anxiously.

_That wasn’t so bad,_ she supposed. _It could be a lot worse, at least._

“Oh, no. Not really. You humans have such a dull and limited understanding of time and death. Your lives, for example, are not consecutive. Time isn’t linear, like you simpletons like to believe.”

“So I’m also…alive right now?” she whispered. If she _could_ feel dizzy in this place, she would probably feel so. As it was, she only felt rather stunned.

“In many realities, yes. In others, no. In some you don’t even exist.”

“So it’s always me, then? I have a…a soul, and I move through lifetimes?”

Death rolled his eyes. “No. I swear, you humans…”

“Well, then what is it?” she asked angrily. “How is it _me_ , over and over and over…”

“It isn’t _you_ ,” Death said testily. “ _You_ is comprised of the experiences you have in your specific instance. Change those experiences and you have a different person entirely. In one, for example, you are…” He glanced at the file again and laughed. “…a heroin addict that, for some reason, felt the pressing and very compelling need to change her name to Diana Lovebubbles. Does that sound like _you_?”

“No,” she answered, feeling very horrified now. “But – ”

“Because it isn’t,” said Death, grinning. “And Diana Lovebubbles dies and crosses over as soon she is finished with her business there, and she’ll fade into the void, to another instance and a new beginning, just like you will now. When you go to a new universe, it’s a new you. A you that exists at the same time, and before, and after the one that died here, and is also both entirely separate and entirely the same as the you that is here before me.”

She just stared at him, and he rolled his eyes. “I know it doesn’t make sense to that tiny little ape brain of yours, so just trust me on this one.”

“My parents,” she said quietly, ignoring his jab, “Will I see them again?”

“In many cases, yes,” he said. “Though again, the possibilities are endless.”

A surge of longing filled her, and her thoughts flashed to Draco.

“I…I won’t remember anything then?” she asked helplessly.

Death’s mouth twitched. “Oh, I already know what’s coming. You’re going to ask me if I can send you where Draco Malfoy is, aren’t you? He asked me the same thing, you know. Begged me.”

“I don’t meet _him_ in every universe?” she pressed anxiously.

“Don’t know. Not my Department,” said Death, shrugging, leaning back and rolling his eyes yet again. “Fate and Chance will have to help you with that one, but seeing as they are both out of office for the next forty years…”

“Forty _years_?” she shrieked.

“Well, what humans would call forty years. Again, time isn’t exactly easy to understand and you all are so completely and hilariously _wrong_ , but right after you die you need some sort of reference you’re familiar with, don’t you? Thus the hour system in the waiting room. And anyway, your Draco’s moved on to another instance, and I suggest you do the same. So can we please hurry this along? Do you know how tiring it is having to explain this to every person that comes through here? All the ridiculous questions they all have?”

“I don’t want to forget him,” she pleaded.

“And I don’t really want to be here,” said Death dryly. “I’m far too old for this shit, but here I am.”

“Do _you_ choose the reality?”

“Yes,” said Death. “At random, from the available ones.”

“Please,” she begged. “Please, _please_ let me be with him again…at least just one more lifetime, that’s all I want…just one more…”

Death just sighed and stood up, his hands resting on the desk. And then the entire room began to shake and vibrate, and all of the vortexes in the room suddenly began to spin in different directions. 

She gazed around, feeling…not afraid, exactly. She just wasn’t ready to let go.

“I am Death,” he said finally, and his voice swelled up to a colossal volume, deepening until it was like thunder, permeating every inch of the room, making her shrink back a little. “I am cold, cruel, and impartial. And I take you all: every creature, every plant, every planet, every star, and every galaxy. All the universes grow dark in time. In every reality, even infinity become mine.”

And then he snapped his fingers, and her skin was tingling.

When she looked down, surprised at the first sensation of feeling since she had died, she saw that her skin was fading away, and that her atoms were melting into the void of time and space.

* * *

It happens when she’s twenty four, in universe one million one hundred and eleven.

She’s getting out of the bus at her stop, fretting about the time. 

She has a meeting with her supervisor to go over her master documents, and the damn bus had come _so_ late. Her bag is heavy as she slings it over her shoulder and steps out onto the sidewalk, and it is bulging with all of the books and papers she needs that day.

She is so distracted that she doesn’t even see the person walking the opposite direction on the sidewalk until she crashes right into them, causing them both to stumble and her to gasp in shock, clutching tighter to her bag so it won’t open and send her books tumbling.

When Y/N looks up, she meets a pair of silver eyes.

Her gaze sweeps over his aristocratic features, the pale-blonde hair, and she feels a tugging sensation in her gut. And not just because he’s good-looking. There’s something very familiar about him, and he, too, is examining her with the same curiosity and interest on his face.

“Are you all right?” he asks earnestly, reaching out to clasp her wrist.

At his touch on her skin, the tugging sensation in her stomach intensifies, and she gasps at the sudden flashes she sees behind her eyelids. She hears him make a little sound of surprise, and she wonders if he is seeing it too: the jolt of another life.

Hours spent together drawing or playing games or talking in an old mansion, where he was blurry and dead and could fly and float through walls. A dance, and his arms around her, and his lips on hers, loss, love, a stabbing pain in her chest, blood, a knife…

Yes. She remembers now.

Death, she decides, isn’t always so cruel.

“Draco?” she whispers hopefully.

“Y/N,” he breathes incredulously, eyes filling with light and immediately reaching down to hold her face between his hands. “I’ve found you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: language, allusions to violence/gore, mentions of drugs


End file.
